


Without a Thought (Without a Voice)

by cindysark



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1699853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cindysark/pseuds/cindysark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver holds himself back from Felicity, scared of taking that final leap to be with her. In the end, it's as easy as falling. Based on a gifset on Tumblr. Mature readers only!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without a Thought (Without a Voice)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladymalfoi](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ladymalfoi).



> This is inspired by a post on tumblr: canttake-thesky.tumblr.com/post/86960779580/whoseeswhatsyetunseen-2-13-2-14-oh-gawd and is dedicated to Alejandra (ladymalfoi) on tumblr. It's not as plot heavy or light as I thought it was going to me. Actually it pretty much just turned into a big smut-fest and then oddly sappy. Oops?

He glances over at her more than he should. To be honest, his concentration is shit when she's next to him, not so much mimicking his moves as creating new ones of her own. He knows he should stay over on his side of the mat, but the draw to be near her is so strong.

Oliver and Felicity have been dancing to this tune for longer than he can remember. He'd like to think it started after Slade had been taken down, after they'd shared that moment neither one could define at the mansion, but he would be lying to himself. He knows the draw to her has been there since day one. He can still remember that pink shirt she wore during their first meeting and the way she tipped her head at him and pursed her pink lips. She never did take any of his bullshit.

He hears a grunt from next to him and resists the urge to look at her again. He can picture her in his head, all tight workout clothes and bright hair swinging behind her as she goes through the kata on the dummy Sara taught her before she left. He had been surprised the first time he walked down the stairs in their new lair to find her sans glasses, sweaty and determined to 'get some muscles because a girl can only be held by a madman so many times before she sort of starts to feel like she needs to equip herself with a different skill set, you know what I mean?', or so she's said in her words.

Oliver's chest hurts every time he thinks of her held against Slade, the shiny blade that killed his mother pressed tight against her neck, so he doesn't interfere with her plan. He quietly purchases another dummy with some of the emergency funds he has stashed away and turns his back to smile to himself when she gives him a knowing look the first time she sees it.

He doesn't offer her any pointers, leaving the correcting of her form to Digg and sometimes even Roy. He knows if he gets close, there will be no turning back. So he resists temptation and sticks to his dummy, punishing it for his own sins.

At least, that's the plan.

It all goes to shit when he hears a gasp behind him that's different from her usual grunts and groans (he tries not to think about those noises and how he could cause them in a very different setting). This gasp is laced with pain and he's spinning to face her before he can think. He sees her shaking out her hand and is across the room, pressed against her back in an instant.

Her gasp this time has a different timber to it, along with a tightening of her shoulders that causes them to press tighter against his chest. Instead of leaning away, like he should, he wraps his arms around her to take her hand in his, inspecting the knuckles that are starting to turn red.

His voice is low and rumbles through her as he says,"these aren't taped properly. Stay here."

Oliver is across the room and back in seconds, before she's even had a chance to turn to face him. He grabs her by the wrists gently and with a well-practiced motion, rolls the tape around her knuckles, first with her right hand and then with her left. His brain has nothing to do with the way his fingers trail after it to smooth the tape down or with the way he draws her hands up to bite off the extra.

Somewhere inside himself he knows this is foolish. He knows he had just been telling himself not two minutes ago that he needs to keep his distance, that this is more dangerous than half of the things he does at night dressed in green leather. Here, now, with his naked chest pressed against Felicity's sports-bra clad back, he knows he's never been in more trouble.

Taking her hands and curling them into proper fists, he tries to re-center himself. Now that he's here, he can show her what she was doing wrong, just so she doesn't injure herself. He tells himself that lie, barely managing to keep from rolling his eyes at his own delusions. He spares a thought to the fact that she's been so silent through all of this, only the gasps leaving her mouth. He almost wishes she would go one one of her tangents, both to break this tension that is steadily building between them and to reassure him that this is ok. That he's not crossing twenty-seven different boundaries (of his own making) right now.

He refocuses, planting his feet just inside of hers and spreading them slightly to adjust her stance. He nearly groans at the way her back slides against his front and he's forced to let go of her hands to grab her by the waist and steady her (also to move her lower half away from his, but again, he's not thinking about that).

Leaning his head towards her, he almost whispers, "Steady. Plant your feet but don't lock your knees," against her ear. He's momentarily distracted by the wave of goosebumps his breath causes, watching them start at her neck and move down her shoulders to her arms. Blinking away the thought of what those bumps would feel like under his tongue, he refocuses yet again as he feels her shift to do as he says.

Felicity isn't a particularly tall woman and standing here like this with her, he's struck by how delicate she feels. Yet he can feel her strength, feel the muscles shift against his hands where her top fails to meet her shorts. He wants to flex his hands against her waist and feel her tense against him again, wants to smooth his fingers across her bellybutton to see if she's sensitive there, wants to lean in the two more inches it would take to have her earlobe between his teeth,  _wants_.

He does none of that.

Instead, he backs away slightly and bends his knees with her, using his still firm grip on her waist to push her lead foot forward. He lets go and holds her forearms, his thumb firm against the insides of her elbows, feeling her pulse that is oddly reassuring to him. He directs her arms up and she automatically assumes the proper stance he's manhandling her into. He feels a surge of pride for this girl, this  _woman_ , knowing she can hold her own and doesn't really need this instruction, but now that he's here he can't back away.

Instead, he murmurs, "good girl," and smoothly directs her arms against the dummy in front of them so they are going through the kata together, moving as one through motion after motion. The rest of the world melts away as his chest ends up against her yet again, his hips cradling her from behind and his legs alternating between surrounding her and moving inside to direct her foot movements. He's half hard and he knows she can feel that, but he's past the point of caring.

They breathe together, chests expanding as one until he feels like he doesn't know where she ends and he begins. As their movements pick up speed, so does their breathing, until they're panting together. It's the groan that comes from her that changes it all, though. He's never heard that particular sound come from her before and his hands fly to her hips, lower this time than he's ever dared touch her before.

Still breathing together, he grips her hard, stilling their movements and pulling her back more firmly against him. His forehead lands on the top of her head and she lets it fall back until she's resting against his chest, her ponytail curling around his bicep to tickle the underside.

He can't help it. He's powerless to it. Slowly, his hand start to travel. His brain is chanting at him that this is a bad idea, but his body and his heart silence it. The fingers of his right hand reach the waistband of the simple black shorts she's wearing and slide along the inside edge from one hipbone to the other. Her breathy, "Oliver," is the first word she's spoken during this strange interlude and it opens something inside of him that he was holding back.

His palm flattens against her belly and his fingers slide the rest of the way beneath her shorts, not stopping until his hand is curled against her heat and moisture. He's almost trembling with need as his other hand comes up to cup the weight of her breast, his thumb flicking the hard point of it through her bra.

"God, Felicity." It's a groan and a prayer all wrapped into one sigh as his fingers delve deeper, parting her folds and learning her body. He feels like he's waited an eternity for this moment and now that it's here he won't rush it.

She shudders against him and his head slips from the top of her head to the side, where he gives into that earlier temptation and takes a hold of her earlobe, tugging it between his teeth gently. Felicity whimpers, her hips surging against his hand as her hands come to tangle in his hair to hold him closer to her.

He spreads the moisture (god, so wet) up and over the place that makes her knees give out a little and he's forced to wrap his other arm just under her breasts to hold her against him. He pinches her lightly then presses and can't help the pure satisfaction he feels when her whole body jerks against his.

He wants to be naked against her. He wants to press himself into her and never leave, learning each and every noise she can make and everything that causes her to make them. He wants to hold the weight of her naked breasts in his hands and feel them against his tongue as she squirms beneath him. His mind goes wild with all his wants, all his  _needs_ at this point and it's all he can do to keep both of them standing against the wave of heat that flows through him.

Still moving his fingers steadily against her, he finally allows himself to taste a piece of her, realizing this is the first moment he's put his lips to her and savoring it. He sucks at a spot just under her chin, taking the opportunity to look down her body to where his hand disappears beneath black cotton. He growls against her pulse at the sight. Her fingernails dig slightly into the back of his head at the sound.

Leaning back slightly and pulling her with him, he uses his leg muscles and chest to prop her body against his, freeing up his other arm to explore once again. He pulls the tight material of her bra up, exposing her to the chilled air of the lair and whispers a, "Fuck," as she is exposed to him for the first time. She has a drop of sweat from her earlier workout dripping down the middle of her body and he wants to taste it, but he stays where he is, stilling his fingers inside her shorts for a moment.

"Oliver, wha-" is all she can say before he's turning her head to the side and covering her lips with his own. The kiss is bordering on brutal. It's his way of telling her he's hanging on by a thread to his control. To his surprise, she meets him halfway and gives as good as she gets, using the arm that's still behind his head to pull him even closer. She rolls her hips against his hand once, then twice, signaling without words that she needs more.

His hand resumes exploring her, sinking lower to slip two fingers inside of her and press his palm against where he had been teasing earlier. He's rewarded with a new wave of moisture and her gasping into his mouth at the sensation. His other hand moves back to her breasts to find her almost painfully tight against his palm. He pinches first one peak, then the other, then sets to rolling one between his thumb and forefinger over and over again.

It's too much for her and her mouth falls away from his, open and gasping as she stares up at him. The look in her eye is so lust filled, he wishes he could take a picture of her looking at him like this and keep it with him always. He can feel the way her body is starting to tense around his fingers, can feel her shaking against him, so he ducks his head beneath her arm, bending himself around her to enclose one swollen nipple between his lips.

Giving a hard suck and then a rapid flick of his tongue at the same time he adds another finger inside her and  _presses_ , he feels and hears her come apart around him, feels it  _inside_ of him. He continues to work her through her orgasm, feeling his hardness grow even more as she writhes and sobs against him.

He lets go of her nipple, suddenly spinning her with his fingers still inside her so they're facing each other. He has to wrap his arm around her again to hold her up and slowly pulls his hand from her shorts, holding her against him with both arms, his face buried in the crook of her neck as she comes down from the aftershocks.

He's so painfully hard, he can feel himself throb where he's pressed against her belly. He feels fingers in his hair, smoothing and scratching and suddenly, without warning, pulling. Felicity pulls his head away from her neck and holds him there. He feels uncomfortable for a moment with the depth of her stare but then she's kissing him, tongue melding with his in such a passionate way, he forgets they've never done this before. That they  _shouldn't_ do this.

Her fingers leave the back of his head and travel down, scraping against his bare back and around his sides until they're toying with the drawstring of his sweatpants. He only has time for one gasp against her mouth and suddenly his pants are around his ankles and Felicity's delicate fingers are wrapped around him. It's his turn to pull away from the kiss, mouth open as he tries to process the feeling. He thrusts against her hand as she squeezes the base of him and then moves up to flick her thumb against the moisture at the tip.

If he didn't know before now that there will be no turning back from this moment, no going back to the way things were, he knows it the second he sees the slightly crooked grin break out across her face. She knows the power she has over him now. She  _knows_. Somehow he's not as scared of that revelation as he thought he would be. Perhaps there will be time for fear and worry later, but right now, with all of him at the mercy of all of her, he can only feel want, need, lust,  _love_.

That last word doesn't take him off guard. Quite the opposite, it catalyzes his thoughts and actions and suddenly he's moving again. He strips the bra that's bunched under her arms off in one motion and then slides his fingers against her hips to pull down her shorts, all the while lightly thrusting into her hands and biting his lip against the sensation.

He kicks off his pants and then lifts her by the waist so she can do the same and doesn't put her down until she's pressed against the training dummy behind her, fitted between the arms of it and propped at just the right height to press himself against her. Her hands had flown away from him to grip his shoulders and he uses her distraction to slide himself against her once, then twice before easing into her welcoming heat.

They groan in unison, his forehead falling against hers. He wants to close his eyes against the sensation but he doesn't want to miss the way her eyes glaze over or the way her mouth drops into the prettiest 'O' as he presses and slides until they're as close as they can get.

Felicity sobs a little and he's surprised to see a tear roll down her cheek. He's on the verge of panic, ready to ask her if he hurt her when she grips the sides of his face and whispers, "this is important. This means something."

He sighs shakily and kisses away her tear, answering, "this means  _everything_."

They share another moment of charged silence before he's moving against her, first rocking and pressing without leaving her and then drawing away before returning, slowly and then faster and faster until they're slamming into each other. Her hands go back to his shoulders and his go under her to cup her ass and pull her harder against him each time. They never break eye contact and they're strangely silent, having a conversation with their eyes as they lose themselves in each other.

Soon, sooner than either of them would like, Felicity's mouth drops open again and she begins to shake against him. Oliver slams into her once, then twice, holding himself there for a beat each time and the change in tempo is all that either of them need to go over that edge together, finally breaking the silence and crying out so their voices mingle together. Oliver continues to rock against her over and over again as they shudder against each other.

He slides down slowly, as his legs can no longer support them, and she ends up in his lap, still joined together, foreheads still pressed together. He leans his forehead against her again and kisses her nose in a sweet gesture. He smiles at the little laugh she gives, at the happy look on her face and knows that he's been an idiot. He's held himself away from her for so long and has missed so many moments they could have already had together. He knows it won't be easy, but now that he knows what it is to have her, there is no other way for him.

He pulls away a little and allows himself to smile at her, a true and genuine smile. Felicity's smile. Her eyes soften and her hands come back to cup his cheeks. She smiles back and then huffs out another little laugh. His grin gets bigger, if that's even possible and he asks, "what?"

She bites her lip, something he's more than happy to do for her from here on out and blushes a little. He loves that she can do that even while she's sitting naked in his lap. She scrubs her fingers against his stubble absentmindedly and tips her head down, looking up at him through her lashes, saying, "I knew I should have asked you to train me sooner."

His laughter echoes off the ceiling and up the stairs, pausing Digg in his tracks just as he's about to open the door. He hears a more feminine laugh join in and John thinks better of turning the handle. He smiles as he walks away, pulling out his phone to dial. Roy owes him fifty bucks.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think?


End file.
